


rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your hair

by ottermo



Series: As Prompted [50]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: Astrid loves playing with Niska’s hair.That’s it, that’s the fic.





	rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your hair

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Week 3, Day 1 of the Humans 4-Week Challenge - aka Nistrid day!

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Astrid said, her eyes meeting the reflection of Niska’s own, in the mirror in front of them. She pulled some of the blonde strands of hair aside, holding them firmly in place as she worked on another piece.

“It’s fine,” said Niska. “I can’t feel it.” 

Her hair wasn’t attached to her in the same way Astrid’s was - she never hissed in pain when part of it got shut in a car door, or tangled in a knot. It was sewn uniformly onto a synthetic scalp that was fitted onto her head, but there weren’t any pain receptors in the roots. Astrid’s hair, like that of most humans, was held in place by tiny muscles, the same sort that gave her goose pimples when she got cold and pretended not to be shivering. She did that so Niska wouldn’t feel obliged to give her her jacket. No matter how many times Niska reminded her that she wasn’t affected by most air temperatures, Astrid couldn’t get used to the idea of walking down the street with three layers on while Niska was just left with a thin t-shirt. 

“No feeling?” Astrid smiled into the mirror. “Not even if I do this?”

She pulled some of Niska’s hair taut and bent it round to the front of her face, using it to tickle Niska’s nose. The sensors there relayed the confusing information, and Niska giggled. “Is that part of the style?”

“Maybe,” said Astrid with an air of mystery, but she pulled back the piece of hair and returned to her work. She was forming an intricate five-strand braid, which, when it was finished, would wave from one side of Niska’s head to the other and back again, before continuing down her back as far as it would go. A clear plastic hair band was ready on Astrid’s wrist for when she reached the end. 

“Where did you learn to do this?” Niska asked her.

“At school,” said Astrid. “I had a friend with this beautiful, thick red hair, and she’d let all of us play with it during break-times. We practiced different styles on her, and taught each other ones we’d invented ourselves.” She placed a clip on Niska’s head to keep the beginnings of the braid in place while she parted the next pieces. “There are seven girls scattered around the country who can all do this same braid.

”Oh,” said Niska, teasingly. “So I’m not special, then.”

“Not even a bit,” said Astrid, the lie sparkling mischievously in her eyes. 

“And this was a redhead, you say?” 

“I guess I have a type,” Astrid said playfully. 

“Evidently. Maybe I should change mine back.” 

Astrid chuckled and shook her head. “Not after I’ve put in all this effort. You have to keep this for at least long enough to earn me some compliments.”

She carried on working in silence for a little while. Niska watched her, keeping perfectly still in the way only a synth could be expected to do. Astrid thought back to the squirms and wriggles of her school days, and realised that their absence now was compensating for her lack of recent practise: the braid was coming out very neatly. Also, Niska’s hair didn’t wisp away like Inga’s had. It was smooth and uniform and perfect, but not in a way that made it look unauthentic. It was beautiful enough that authenticity no longer applied. Or maybe it was just that Astrid’s perception of authenticity had changed so drastically in the past couple of months. Either way. She couldn’t improve on Niska, but she could rearrange the way her hair fell and take pride in the results. 

She came to the end of the braid, and held it sideways a little for Niska to see. The ends of the hair fell away in a sleek curve, finishing daintily in a tip no more than five strands thick. 

“Done,” said Astrid, pleased, and went to slide the clear hair band off her wrist and onto the braid. 

“Wait,” said Niska suddenly, shifting in her chair for the first time and fishing in the pocket of her jeans. Astrid frowned, but her expression changed when Niska held up a turquoise-coloured hairband and said, “Use this.”

Astrid gave a tiny gasp. “Is that—?”

“Of course it is.” 

Their smiles met in the mirror. Astrid took the hairband. Properly speaking, it was too bulky to use at the end of such a long and delicate braid, and the clear one would have been invisible in Niska’s hair, adding to the elegance of the style. But the meaning and resonance of the turquoise band was far more important than such things. She wrapped it lovingly around the end of the braid and leaned in close to Niska’s ear.

“It means you’re mine now,” she whispered, an echo of her very first promise. 


End file.
